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She looked at him coolly until he smiled with genuine amusement.
‘You’re quite a character, Miss Torrance,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me this—do you drink?’
‘Of course I drink.’
‘I mean as in wine? Something light and refreshing to go with the seafood, maybe?’
‘Why not? Do I look like a teetotaller?’ she asked wryly.
‘I just thought, having been castigated on the excesses of this place, that might be another of your pet aversions.’
Sienna grimaced. ‘Sorry, perhaps I got a bit carried away—it’s a little demoralizing to feel under-dressed, in case you hadn’t realized.’
‘My apologies. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass you, but there is no need—you look absolutely fine.’
Sienna chewed her lip. He sounded as if he meant it. Perhaps it simply hadn’t crossed his mind that you needed to give a girl fair warning before you took her to Angelo’s? Maybe the women he normally escorted around expected no less?
‘Thank you, I’ll rise above it then—and I’d love some wine to go with the seafood.’
‘Bravo!’ His eyes lingered on her for a long moment but were entirely enigmatic, before he turned away to order the wine.
A couple of hours later, crispy, garlic-butter-soaked bread and tapas had come and gone as well as melt-in-the-mouth barbecued bugs on a bed of rice with a green salad. And Sienna realized—how had he done it?—they hadn’t talked about his stick at all. If anything, they’d mostly talked about her.
Somehow, maybe the wine had helped, he’d broken through her barriers of resentment and feelings of ill-use and got her to talk about herself. Her university days, her passion for her career, her travels, even her politics!
‘How did you do that?’ she asked him out of the blue.
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Invite me to dinner to talk about your stick, then get me to talk about anything but?’
He shrugged. ‘Most people love talking about themselves.’
‘Yes, but I’m usually—’ She gestured. ‘Things are usually the other way around for me. I’m the one who does the asking.’
‘I’ve noticed that. You’re very good at making light, unimportant conversation.’
‘Just like a hairdresser,’ she said mischievously.
‘What do people tell you?’ he asked curiously.
She raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘The most amazing things sometimes. Quite often things I’d rather not know.’ She smiled ruefully, then sobered. ‘But—why?’
‘I guess—’ he put his napkin on the table ‘—I’m interested, that’s all. As for my stick, if you really want to know, I think it’s holding me back mentally now.’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I need a new challenge. I need to throw it away. Of course it goes without saying I’ll be careful.’ He frowned suddenly. ‘It’s like a prop and it’s annoying me to think I need a prop. I don’t know if that makes sense, but there you go.’
‘So,’ she said slowly, ‘whatever I say is not going to make any difference?’
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